Nursery Rhymes
by FlopsyOllie
Summary: "There is no more running away.  The past chased her down, pinned her, and ripped her throat out." A twist on Puck and Quinn meeting Beth. Future AU!
1. Chapter 1

_This had been on my computer forever. I started it this past summer and just finished it - it's forty pages (I know, I'm scared too), so I broke it up into two parts. Every section is based on a nursery rhyme (hence the title). Enjoy!_

**Nursery Rhymes**

_-Today-_

"_Here am I, little jumping Joan. When nobody's with me I'm always alone."_

At twenty-eight, her life has become a collage of broken promises. A melody of accidents, really, that turned into hopes and dreams, then nightmares, changing their faces so many times that by the end, she isn't sure what to believe. But then again, she's never been very sure in her faith, so maybe it's a pattern. Maybe this is the way it's supposed to be.

She sips her bottle of lemonade methodically, thinking. There's a light breeze, but it isn't refreshing. The sweat is pooling at the nape of her neck, and loose strands of her blonde hair are sticking to her face, the Georgia heat staining her pale complexion. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, white dress swaying in the breeze.

She's always liked wearing white. Maybe it's a forced fake innocence she lost a long time ago. Maybe it's a habit from when she was a church-going little girl, her mother brushing her hair every Sunday morning and tying it with bows, saying _"Only the prettiest girls wear white" _which for her translated into _perfect, angel girls_ and her psyche was screwed ever since; she was doomed to fall from grace. Or maybe she just likes to try and pretend everything's like it used to be, the life she could've had. When she adorned white dresses for dinner and daddy patted her head and said she was beautiful. Before she started loving boys and compromising herself for the honor of a secret that turned into hell.

Whatever it is, to her white is a virgin purity she no longer has. She shouldn't feel bad. A lot of the population doesn't even see her sins as sins. She stepped out of the minority and entered the real world a long time ago, but sometimes her mind still wanders to the other perspective.

She still wears her gold cross as some kind of sick reminder or an empty pledge. It's the only part of her that's remained since she went from the top of the world, to the bottom, to somewhere in the middle, and it's fitting in a masochistic way. Since she watched her life implode, she's always had a _thing_ for pain, starting with monster baby lies and ending most recently with staring at the same number in her phone contacts every night, fighting the urge to dial.

Quinn made a promise she would forget. She swore up and down she'd get out of freaking Lima, Ohio, and never look back. She isn't about to let herself break all because of stupid fantasies of cliché, high school romance.

Secretly, if she lets herself look back, she might just start running _all the way_ back, to places so shattered she can never fix them. She'd rather have her back turned and hold herself together than let herself retrace her steps to hopeless situations and fall apart completely.

It's not easy, but it's easi_er_. She hasn't spoken to anyone from high school in seven years, hasn't seen them, save for watching Rachel Berry's role in "Funny Girl" on the Today Show. She only sings when she's in the shower or to bribe her students (sometimes the seventh graders need a little motivation). She doesn't think about _him _or _her_ or anyone else, except maybe when she's dreaming or tipsy or drunk. None of it happens often.

Usually it sneaks up on her. A mother and baby playing in the park. A boy on the sidewalk, playing his guitar for spare change. Gossiping girls in the hallway, boys shaving their heads and leaving mohawks behind. The reality slams into her full force, and some days she just wants to crawl under her desk and never come out.

But she doesn't. She teaches kids about literature and verbs and life, and walks by the nursery department in the store without a second glance. She jokingly tells little boys to get new haircuts and ruffles their hair, and they whine _Miss Fabray! _and she smiles and tries to treat the little girls with blonde hair and brown eyes just the same as everyone else.

The last thing on her mind is Ohio or _him_ or _her_. She doesn't even know where they are. Doesn't care (at least that's what she tells herself to get by). Eventually her life will pick itself up again out of this rut and she'll be _happy_…

Right now, it's a summer heat wave, and all her teacher friends think she's insane for sticking around instead of going on vacation north, like the rest of them. They don't realize she can't leave. She doesn't want to.

_Escaping_ would be defined as _weakness_ which would be defined as _excuses_ which would be defined as _home_ which would be defined as _looking back_ which would be defined as-

The jingle of her cell phone pulls her out of her mind. Quinn digs through her purse, swigging her lemonade before answering hastily, wondering why the school would want her during vacation (she doesn't give her number out to _anyone_), "Hello?"

"Hi. Is this… Quinn Fabray?"

The voice is young. Nervous. A student? It's summer. Students aren't supposed to want to talk to teachers during the school year, let alone summer.

"Yes. May I ask whose calling?"

There is silence. Deep breaths. She stands up to begin the sweaty trek back to her apartment.

"Um… It's me. Beth. Your daughter?"

She drops her lemonade bottle. The glass shatters on the sidewalk, spilling the sugary drink across the pavement and her shoes. The stickiness seeps in between her toes.

She is sixteen again, staring at the child swaddled in pink she wants (needs) but cannot (will not) have. She is broken and shallow and lost and alone, except for one boy (man?) who doesn't know how to deal any better than she does, and the world keeps turning as they scream at each other underneath the stars of sleepless nights.

There is no more running away. The past chased her down, pinned her, and ripped her throat out.

She doesn't know what to do, what to say, except she thinks the broken glass is making her foot bleed, and a person she knew but never knew is waiting for an answer. So she says the first thing that comes to mind:

"Fuck."

…

_-2012-_

"_She wears a bonnet, with white ribbons on it, and dimity petticoats over her knee."_

For a split second, three days before graduation (_June 8, 2012_), she thinks it. For a split second, she thinks _it_.

(_She's two years old today-_)

But then, she pushes it away. Tries on her cap again. In the early summer air, she stares at herself in the mirror, at the absence in her room (_never belonged there in the first place, but the fact that the crib is now in the basement still stings_).

Friday night, she walks across the stage, receives her diploma. Two months later, she's on a plane to the University of Georgia and doesn't visit her mother until Christmas. She leaves Noah's graduation present on his front steps and doesn't call him.

Eventually, she stops wondering about them. It gets easier. Except now. Except today.

Now, she has _this_.

…

_-Today-_

"_With rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes, she shall have music wherever she goes."_

"Um… hello?"

Damn. What the hell is she supposed to say? This wasn't supposed to happen. She was never, ever supposed to have to deal with this. After one too many nights fighting over it, she gave up. This _isn't_ part of the plan.

"Hi. I'm sorry… _Beth_," God, it hurts to say her name. _It hurts too much_.

She picks up her feet and starts walking away from the broken glass as fast as possible, foot throbbing. There is a cut bleeding above her big toe. When was her last Tetanus shot?

Her _child_ is on the phone. _Her daughter._ Suddenly, Quinn is overcome by fear. She can't do this, can't see this, can't hear this. This wasn't part of the deal. She wasn't supposed to talk to her _ever again_.

_(She wanted to keep her but she wanted a life; a real life, far far away from everyone else_)

No. Just no.

"It's okay."

"No. I'm sorry. I just can't do this right now. I can't do it."

She's almost running, unlocking the door to her apartment complex, taking the stairs two at a time, unlocking her door.

"What do you-"

"Please just… call your _father_. He'll talk to you," he was always better at dealing with this than she was, probably because he liked to get drunk and didn't carry her with her everywhere he went for nine months, "Call _Noah_. Please."

"You're not with him?"

"_No._"

She hangs up her phone and hurls it at the wall.

She doesn't even know where Noah is. Maybe he's dead. Maybe Beth will call Noah and-

God, even their _names_ hurt. It hurts too much to _think about_.

This is why she left. Why she won't go back. Quinn doesn't know what to do next, but she knows she could really use a drink. She cracks open a wine bottle while she cleans up her foot, taking a sip every time she thinks about _him_ or _her_ or anything about them. Perhaps, eventually, she won't think anymore.

…

_-Today-_

"_The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts, and took them clean away."_

He's never been very religious, except when his mom dragged him and his sister to synagogue in some act of pretending everything would be okay, but today he's praying for God to bring down some clouds to block out the sun.

It's so hot, it feels like he's about to sweat through his jeans. Roofing was never his favorite part of the job, especially when it's eighty degrees on a black roof, but he'll take whatever money he can get and hope he doesn't end up with a wicked sunburn, just a killer tan.

At least he's near the ocean. Noah will never admit it (he doesn't like using words that make him feel like a pussy), but he thinks the ocean's pretty. He'd never seen it until he got a job in the Cape Cod area as a carpenter. Having minimum wage parents and living in a landlocked state prevented him from ever seeing salt water. Now, he can't really imagine moving away. The air smells fresh and there's always a nice breeze and the scenery is _kick ass_. It makes him feel like he's on top of the world, even if he didn't exactly turn out the way is mom envisioned.

He hasn't been back to Lima in a while, didn't even show up last Christmas because of a snowstorm that shot his power for eight days. It gave him a way to ignore the fact that he didn't really want to go home. Ever since he perpetually ruined and fulfilled his life, the place hurt too much. He'd much rather fly someplace new and get totally wasted to celebrate his freedom. Which he did. The ocean seemed like a perfect place to forget.

He doesn't like to define it as "running away" because that's what his old man did and he's _nothing_ like his dad. At least, he wouldn't have been, if she had given him the chance. Now he'll never really know. He never thought he was the marrying type. Most of his girls are a "hit and run" type of deal, though he's slowed down considerably since his high school days. Fucking work just exhausts him too much.

Besides, it's not _running away_ if _she_ ran away first. He was just following suit. They were all bound to leave at some point. He wouldn't be a Lima Loser. Not if he had anything to say about it.

He has a job now. He gets paid. He can walk down the street and not see one person he knows, which is just the way he likes it.

But at home, in his wallet, are faces he remembers. They haunt his dreams.

It's a picture of the two women who were, at one point in time, his entire life. She's lying in a hospital bed, smiling down at a pink bundle. It's after she swore at him through the pains of labor, but before she swore at him for blaming all of their messed up shit on her. It was one of the many moments he realized she was beautiful. He loved her more than ever.

Then, their world came crashing down. He tried to be a man (which was a stupid idea) and let _her_ decide, because lets face it, she would be the one up all hours changing diapers and breast feeding and tearing her hair out. He was only a bystander. (It was his fault anyway for not keeping his dick in his pants).

Then he was left with an empty nest that never should've been (almost) full to begin with (Not that he ever actually had a nest prepared, because he always knew she was stubborn and they were young and in situations too big to comprehend).

Still, that never stopped the lingering hope, hope that still exists deep down inside today. He just managed to stuff it down somewhere indefinable. It festers when he thinks about it, hot to the touch. It'll always be unfulfilled.

He wipes the sweat off the back of his neck before positioning his nail gun again. Today repairs, tomorrow they get to install lightning rods. In this heat, he couldn't be anymore fucking jealous of the guy holding the ladder. Why doesn't anyone ever need inside work done, like building counters or cabinets? He'd paint a stupid room for christsakes, as long as he doesn't have to sit on top of this roof boiling to death.

He doesn't want to be inside this house, though. The family is on vacation from Illinois. They have a little girl with blonde hair. Her eyes are green, but that's not enough to stop him from thinking about it.

(_That could've been you…_)

'Course, then he just tells his brain to shut the fuck up and get back to work. The bills don't pay themselves. He'll be damn happy when he gets something higher paying, like building a whole fucking mansion-

"Hey, Puckerman!" his buddy Ron shouts from the ground, nursing a bleeding hand, "Your phone won't shut up."

"You think it's that important?" he says angrily. The faster he gets this done, the faster he can go home and fall asleep in front of the fan.

"Someone keeps calling. At least shut it off!"

He grumbles, climbing down off the roof, "Okay, but I am the one with the nail gun, idiot."

"Point taken," Ron says, reaching into the first aid kid to grab some bandages. Noah climbs into the company truck to grab his phone off the dashboard. The screen is blinking. He has four missed calls. Just as he's about to check the number, it rings again.

"Hello?" the aggravation seeps into his voice.

"Hi. Is this Noah Puckerman?"

"Yeah," he slams the door, walking around the house until he's a few hundred yards away from the ocean. The slight wind cools him down considerably, but not enough to make him un-pissed at the stranger wasting his time, "What can I do for you?"

"I'm Beth Corcoran. Your daughter."

What. The. _Fuck_.

Suddenly, he's not so angry anymore. He's too confused about how the hell his daughter is calling him. Quinn wanted a closed adoption. He thought it was stupid since they already knew the freaking Vocal Adrenaline coach lady. They saw her in the hospital and they saw her in town picking up diapers. But she didn't want any fucking contact, said it would be "easier" for the "both" of them. He didn't know what boat she was in, but he certainly wasn't with her. Still, he kept his mouth shut until about a month later, because she was the mom and what she said was law in the eyes of everyone but him.

Now, his kid's on the other end of the phone. The chance he always kind of wanted. The chance he's _not supposed to have_.

But here it is, right in front of him. Does he wager? Or fold?

…

_-2012-_

"_All the king's horses and all the king's men, cannot put Humpty-Dumpty together again."_

He wakes up three days before graduation (_June 8, 2012_) and doesn't go to school. He wakes up hours after his mom and sister leave, goes to the liquor cabinet, and drowns in a whiskey river.

He drinks enough to forget what day it is, to forget what her name is. He stubs his toe and passes out in the middle of the floor with a killer hangover the next day, but he doesn't care, because he's so _wasted_ he almost doesn't even remember he's a father –

(_She's two years old today_-)

No. _Go away_.

He pukes his guts out, and he's pretty sure he drunk dials Quinn a few times, but she doesn't pick up. He wakes up in the morning on the floor, wallet open, their picture clenched in his fist.

Three days later he actually gets his diploma, even though he has to wear a _gown_ (more like a _dress_) to get it. He goes home and gets online to see how much money a plane ticket to Massachusetts costs.

A few weeks later, Noah finds a small white box tied with a purple bow on his front steps. The tag reads: _Congratulations, you did it! _in familiar, loopy handwriting.

Inside is a small brown teddy bear with a pink bow wrapped around his (her) neck. It's the bear he gave her when he tried to apologize for the thousandth time. He said she could give it to _their little girl_. It never happened because she wasn't really _theirs_ so she didn't need any presents from a sixteen year old screw up.

He takes the bear to bed with him, and cries himself to sleep for the first time in a while. It sucks, because he's acting like a fucking pansy, but she gave it back to him and this means he'll _never have either of them ever again_.

Except now.

…

_-Today-_

"_I skipped over water, I danced over sea, and all the birds in the air couldn't catch me."_

After a couple seconds, he remembers how to breathe.

"I know who you are."

He stares off at the ocean. High tide is coming back in, waves lapping up onto the sand. The grass growing over the dunes sways in the breeze, almost like the ocean itself.

"You remember me?"

How could he not? There's never a day that goes by where he doesn't think about her or the girl who gave birth to her, or all the hell they went through to make it to delivery day, and how afterward life just got worse. He constantly questions what could have been, what should have and should never have been. Because lets face it, they would've sucked as parents. Like, monumentally.

"Of course I do. I could never… forget about you," he wonders how the hell she's calling him. Isn't this illegal? "How old are you now?"

"I turned twelve last month."

Twelve? Jesus… How can she be _twelve_ already?

"How'd you get my number?"

"Are you mad at me? I'm sorry I called you. I-"

"No. No, I'm not mad," surprised, blown away, but not mad. He always wanted to know who she was, even if Quinn didn't, "It's just that it was a closed adoption… sort of. I didn't know you were allowed to contact us."

"Well my mom knew you. She said it wouldn't hurt to try."

Great. Berry's psycho mom on the loose. For a second, he wonders if she knows about Rachel, if they still talk at all. Does Rachel know Beth? Does she want to _kill_ Shelby for getting a new baby instead of getting to know her? Noah wouldn't blame her, because he kind of wants to kill her too. If she turned his daughter into another mini-Rachel he swears he'll-

That's right. This is _his daughter_ on the phone (well not really _his _anymore). Beth. He picked out that name and she kept it. It's like some kind of screwed up movie. It makes it worse, because it's like she really almost _is theirs_ but she _isn't_. She never will be.

"Why didn't you call… _Quinn_?" he hasn't said her name in years. It feels weird to say it, like his mouth doesn't want to form the sounds even though they're so familiar.

"I did. She said to call you first."

What? Why the hell would she do that? She's the goddamn _mother_. Maybe she doesn't want to see her. She could be living in a crack house for all he knows. She could be dead and he wouldn't know.

Well, he hopes she isn't dead. _Obviously_ she isn't… or living in a crack house. That would suck. That isn't the Quinn he knows.

But he doesn't really know her anymore, does he?

"What do you want to know?"

"I… want to meet you. Both of you. If that's okay."

How is he supposed to answer that? It's not like he can say no. He can't really say yes either. If he sees her, he might just want to take her with him. It might rip open a new wave of regret, of sadness, of shit he swore he'd quit feeling a long time ago. It doesn't seem like a good idea, but sometimes his bad ideas turn out to be the best opportunities.

"I think I have to talk to Quinn first."

He isn't sure _how_, exactly, he'll talk to Quinn, but he'll do it. He has to.

"Well… okay. Call me back?"

"We will eventually. I promise."

"Okay. Bye, Noah."

"Bye… _Beth_."

He almost chokes on her name as he hangs up the phone.

Two more hours of work. Then home. Then, he'll call her. He prays she's sane and won't hang up on him. After all, she never wanted to talk to him before. What could've changed?

…

_-Today-_

"_The maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes; when down came a blackbird and pecked off her nose."_

It's 6:30. Her foot hurts a little, propped up on the couch while she watches the evening news. After she stopped with the wine, she wasn't very hungry. She hasn't moved since.

She hung up on her baby. Who does that? Especially to an impressionable daughter she doesn't know? What if she hates her now?

But she's not supposed to be thinking about it. Thinking about them hurts, and she figures she's gone through enough pain for one day. Is it too much to ask for some peace?

Apparently, it is. Her cell phone starts ringing again. She heaves herself off the cushions and hops over to where she threw the phone hours ago. The number is restricted, and she prays it isn't her again. Quinn might not be able to stand that.

She waits until she's back on the couch before answering, "Hello?"

"Hi Quinn."

That voice. That damn voice she longed for and never wanted to hear again. The one other person who could make her drink herself into oblivion. The one person who screwed up her life and gave her wings all at once.

She sighs, "Hi Puck."

He snorts, "No one's called me that in quite a while."

"I'm sorry, _Noah._"

"It's okay. I don't mind."

She bites her lip. What the hell does he want? Why would he need to call her? How does he have her number? If he talked to (_Beth_) he doesn't need to talk to her. Unless…

"What do you want?"

"Missed you too, _MILF_! How's life been?"

"_Don't_ fucking call me that," she sneers, mouth twisting into a frown.

"Ah, there's the Quinn I got to know so well. Seriously, how are you?"

He's not funny. She stopped thinking he was funny once he decided he wanted their child but it was too late and blamed her.

"Do you just want to play games, Puck? Because I don't play games with people like you anymore."

"I figured that by the way you fell off the face of the Earth."

She's not _hiding_. Anyone could find her. She just wouldn't talk to them.

"So did you."

"Nah, you just didn't look hard enough."

"Who said I was looking? I wasn't."

"Neither was I, until now. Were you really desperate enough to change your number? I had to call your mom to get it."

He called her mother? _She_ hasn't even called her mother since… her birthday, maybe? She's been nagging her to come home. What could he have told her? I need your daughter's phone number because _our_ daughter called _us_ and she wouldn't talk to her?

"Congratulations, Sherlock! You found me," she forgot how bitter and jaded he could make her feel. Great.

"Not quite. I still don't know where you are."

"And I don't know where you are. We're even."

"I'm on Cape Cod," he says, rolling off his tongue easily. Of course. He really wants to know where she is?

"Really? I thought you'd be stuck in Lima forever."

"Nope. I got out just like you. Where are you?"

She sighs, "Georgia. Outside Athens."

He better not come see her. If he does, she just might kill him. Or kiss him. She doesn't want to know.

"Oh, so you've got a nice, southern boyfriend and couldn't take the time to make a phone call?"

"What? No!" she hasn't had a boyfriend since college, actually. Didn't want to get tangled up in anything she couldn't explain.

"Why'd you have Beth call me? Why didn't you want to talk to her?"

Everything in her life revolves back to that one time… maybe it's karma. Is this what she deserves for giving her baby up for adoption? Should she have kept her all along? As if she wasn't confused enough already, Puck has to come banging the door down-

"Can we not talk about this?" she closes her eyes, breathing in and out, picking stray threads out of the couch cushions.

"We _have_ to talk about it. It's not an avoidable issue anymore."

He underestimates her ability to avoid situations. Ha.

"It's just… hard, Puck."

An ad for kids cough medicine flashes across the screen, little girls and boys abundant. She shuts off the TV with a flick of the remote. The universe _definitely_ has a problem with her…

"It's hard for me, too. At least I talked to her."

"What did she want?"

"She wants to meet us. Both of us."

She can't even think about her name. How can she meet her? How can she see her and talk to her and not break down completely?

Quinn already wants her too much. She wants everything too much, things she cannot have. If they're there, in the flesh, she might just explode.

…

_-2010-_

"_Lady bird, lady bird, fly away home; Thy house is on fire, thy children all gone."_

It's been a month _since they gave her away_. July came without either of them noticing. Quinn sits in her window seat, staring at the road below. He is lying on her bed, holding a pillow to his chest. If she was in a better mood, she'd call him out for being such a baby. But she isn't in a "good" mood, and words like _baby_ make her mouth go numb.

They've been doing this a lot. It's an unspoken agreement. Somehow, they just meet up at an unplanned location, sitting, not talking. She thinks she does it because she doesn't want to be alone, and he's the only one who can understand. (_her hands still touch her stomach, finding flabs of skin instead of a child, and she remembers that now she is truly alone_)

She doesn't know why he comes or follows her. But she's glad he's here.

"Quinn?"

She turns her head to look at him, frazzled strands of hair bouncing in front of her eyes. She hasn't been sleeping well. Sometimes, if her mother isn't home (or even if she is), they end up staying awake all night.

"What if we made a mistake?"

He doesn't look at her when he says it, staring at the ceiling.

She doesn't want to answer him. She hates him for voicing the one thing she's been terrified of. It doesn't matter if it was the _wrong choice_. _It's done_.

Done. Over. Gone.

"I'm not talking about this."

She doesn't look to see if he's staring at her, if he's upset. It doesn't matter.

She avoids looking at herself in the mirror as she stands up, pausing in the doorway to look back at him, "I'm taking a shower. Will you be here when I get out?"

He doesn't say anything. She doesn't wait for an answer.

…

_-Today-_

"_Bye, baby, bunting, Daddy's gone a-hunting, gone to fetch a rabbit skin…"_

"She wants to meet us. Both of us."

There's silence on the other end. He's afraid she might hang up. If only she'd stop being such a coward and deal with it.

It's hard for him too, but Puck knows the time as come to face it. They've danced around it for twelve years, since they tore it apart and that didn't work, so they decided to just not touch it altogether. It was the elephant in the room. They were never the same.

Static comes through the phone. Her breathing, "I don't know if I can."

"Why not?"

She's just like before. _Avoiding everything_. She still hasn't woken up from her fantasy world. He bets she still wears white, too, and pretends nothing ever happened and she's sitting alone in a place where no one knows her, not talking to _anyone_ because she _wants to_, not because she's terrified of knowing her entire life is one big _denial project_.

"It's just… difficult."

He rolls his eyes, the cool breeze of the fan washing over his body. After he got home from work and ate some leftover pasta, he climbed into bed and tried to dial her number. It was disconnected, so he called her mother in Lima. She sounded worried, since apparently she hadn't heard from Quinn herself in a few months. Good to know she isn't only hiding from him. It's everyone, "No shit. It's _difficult_ for me too. But we have to face it."

"Why?"

"I don't know, maybe because she's our _daughter_?"

"That doesn't mean anything. You should know that."

She has to be bluffing. She can't just give up. That's unlike her.

"It doesn't have to be. But it is. You're not curious?" He is. Since the day she told him she wouldn't keep her, he wondered about everything he would miss.

"No. Not really," her words come off quick and bitter.

"You're a liar."

"How would you know? You don't know me, Puck. You never _knew me_."

"I knew you enough to have a baby with you."

"A baby we gave up. She isn't _ours_-"

"Look, will you at least see me? We can talk about this face to face. It'll be good to catch up."

"The past is overrated."

Since when is she so stubborn? On second thought, she always was. They're fighting about the same subject they gave up years ago.

"The _past_ explains how we got here. If we just talk about it… we can figure out where it went wrong."

Of course, he knows exactly where it went wrong. The problem is, it's not one place that went "wrong." It's a pile of wrongs, toppling over onto one another until they were buried.

"Come on, Quinn. I'll fly down and-"

"No. I swear, it's one hundred degrees here. Heat wave. I'll fly up."

Well. That was easier than he thought. Somehow, though, he knows it's not over yet. She doesn't come around that easily.

He grins, "Well, Miss Fabray, I'd say you've got yourself a deal."

…

_-2010-_

"_The pig was eat, and Tom was beat, and Tom went roaring down the street."_

It's been a month. A whole freaking month since they let her go, and he's still just as confused as the day it happened. He had hoped that once some time had passed, it would get better. He'd stop thinking about her so much, come to accept that it was the right choice. Instead, it's only gotten worse.

He doesn't really know what to do with himself within the long expanse of summer. Last summer he was drinking more than he should have and sleeping with girls. Repeating the past feels… wrong now that so much has changed. All he ever does is go to Quinn's house, or they meet somewhere and sit together (mostly apart, really), staring off into space, hardly talking. He can't see how this could've been a _good choice_, if now their lives are so empty.

That particular day, Puck decides he wants to do something to cheer Quinn up for once, instead of the moping around they usually do. He stops at the local Walmart to pick up a package of oreos. It should be simple. He's walking down the aisles heading for number nine, labeled "Snacks: cookies; crackers; chips; novelties." He turns, the oreos in his line of vision. Then he sees her.

Shelby Corcoran is standing right in front of him, adding a box of flavored crackers to her shopping cart.

He stands there for a minute, dumbstruck. Apparently, she doesn't know what she's supposed to do either, because she doesn't say anything. After a couple seconds she blinks, opens her mouth, "Hello, Noah."

He swallows, "Hi, Miss Corcoran."

"Oh, please," she smiles, "Call me Shelby."

Honestly, he doesn't want to _call her_ anything (except for a few choice, inappropriate words). He'd rather just go get his oreos, thank you very much. Instead, he forces a smile onto his face.

"So how have you been?"

"I'm… okay," it's a lie. Maybe she can't tell.

"And Quinn? How's she doing?"

"Ah… she's… we're all dealing with… things."

He desperately wants to ask how Beth is. Did she even name her Beth? Should he even be talking to her? Is she okay? Is she taking care of her?

But he can't ask. It would only make things worse. It would only make him want to kidnap his own daughter, which is wrong and weird, and yet feels strangely… okay, in this situation.

He looks down for a lack of better idea, and sees the items in her shopping cart. Diapers. Formula. Bibs. A little purple onesie. (Tomatoes, crackers, a book, and canned soup, but his mind doesn't focus on these things)

_Damn it_. This is just so _messed up_.

"Oh, well I-"

"I'm sorry, Miss Corcoran, but I've really got to go."

He spins on his heel, forgetting about the oreos, taking long strides to the exit.

_It should be him shopping for diapers and baby clothes. _He_ should have dark circles under his eyes, staying up all night with his infant daughter. _He _should be singing her lullabies and rocking her to sleep…_

He punches the side of his truck before he drives away, because Noah Puckerman _does not_ cry over pansy emotions.

He makes it to Quinn's house without a trace of tears on his face. Upstairs in her room he flops down on her bed, not even bothering to knock. He thinks about telling her how he tried to be _nice_ and buy her something, but then he'd have to tell her about _Shelby_ and… he doesn't really want to think about it, or make her anymore depressed or lost or whatever the hell she's feeling (they don't talk about it).

"How are you?" he asks. She turns her head to look at him. Her hair looks like shit and she has bags under her eyes from not sleeping (they never sleep anymore). He suspects he looks the same, except without the huge rack (which would be hot if he didn't know why they were there) and deflated stomach.

"My boobs hurt."

"Oh," he'd read up on what would happen to her after the baby was gone. After all, he's not a complete idiot. The milk has to go _somewhere_… "Sorry."

"Yeah…" she mutters, turning to stare out the window again, "You should be."

They don't say anything after that.


	2. Chapter 2

…

_-Today-_

"_If your heels are nimble and light, you may get there by candlelight."_

She lands in a Massachusetts airport around five thirty in the afternoon, hair frazzled from falling asleep against the window and a bag of complimentary pretzels clutched in her fist. The pretzels fall into the trashcan and she fixes her hair in the bathroom, touching up her makeup. If she has to see Puck again, she might as well look nice.

She heads down to baggage claim and finds her navy blue suitcase, an old red WMHS ribbon tied around the handle. She looks for a place to sit down, but before she can head for a chair, there's a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, stranger."

"Puck," she grins despite herself. He doesn't look much different from high school, besides the fact that his hair's grown out a little. Same face with the same cocky smile. Before she knows what she's doing, she hugs him quickly. His arms snake around her waist. He even smells the same. She might as well be sixteen again, because only her sixteen year old self could miss him _this much_. Her current self as moved on (or so she likes to believe).

"I missed you, Quinn."

"I… missed you too," it isn't a lie, although she wishes it was.

They're standing in the airport, embracing like a young couple in love. It would appear that way to any bystander. In reality, they're anything but. No expressions explain them appropriately. She finds it funny how interpretations can work out that way.

"Let's get going," he picks up her suitcase and they head out into the parking lot. The cool air washes over her and she breathes in deep.

"Mhm. It's been a while since I've felt a breeze this nice."

"Yeah, that's one of the perks of living here. Usually there's a cool down right around the corner."

They climb into his truck and he starts the engine. She stares out the window. The ocean is just over the horizon.

"What made you decide to live here?"

He scoffs, "What made you decide to live in Georgia?"

"I went to _college_ there. I'm assuming you didn't go to school?"

She doesn't like the air of arrogance in her voice. He probably doesn't either. She isn't exactly sure how she's supposed to act. They always only fit together in the wrong ways.

"Nope, though I'm a little offended that you don't think I'm smart enough to get into college."

"I didn't say that. It's just that you didn't like high school, so why would you bother to pay for college? Do you like working better?"

"Yeah. I really do. It feels like I'm actually getting shit done."

"What do you do?"

Now she feels like she's playing a game of twenty questions. In the back of her mind, she knows she should know this. She _would_ know this if she hadn't dethatched herself from the rest of the world… Well, she did what had to be done.

"I'm a carpenter with a company that pretty much does everything in the world of building construction."

"Oh," that would explain his tan verging on sunburn and his well defined muscles (which _no_, she does _not_ find attractive), "I teach seventh graders."

He smiles, "Never could get away from kids, could you?"

"Don't ruin my mood, _Noah_."

He laughs, just like he always used to laugh at her before Beth was born, "You're much more pleasant now than you were over the phone."

"Yeah, well… I figured I can't hang up on you here," she doesn't say that just seeing him puts her in a better mood. Being with him makes her feel like all is not lost, like she can still salvage some part of her old self.

"True. But you didn't have to come."

She'll never admit that this is attempting to "deal with it." She just thought that maybe if he was there to help (and she's hoping it will be _help_ and not _hurt_) it wouldn't all sting so badly.

"Really? I thought you'd say it wasn't a choice."

"Reverse psychology."

She stares out the window, arm hanging out the side to catch the breeze, "Still sleeping around like old times?"

He chuckles, "Not exactly."

Her eyes widen to mock him, "Young Puck would be ashamed!"

"I know, but he can't blame me for growing up a bit," she wants to laugh a little. She never pictured him growing up and _maturing_. It just didn't fit, "What about you? Still role playing as the Virgin Mary?"

"No, though I can't say I'm prostituting myself around like _you_ always did."

He gasps sarcastically in return, "Your mother would be ashamed!"

She looks down, "Yeah, well, we've gotten used to disappointments."

The conversation fizzles out after that. Now he's got her stuck on thinking about all the _disappointments_…

Her mother would probably burn her at the stake if she knew the last time she went to church, if she wasn't above all that by now. She hasn't spoken to her father in years… probably not since the summer before she went to college. He never forgave her for her mistakes, so she didn't exactly forgive him for his, though sometimes she wishes she could talk to him (mostly when she has nightmares about getting married and no one shows up to walk her down the aisle).

She misses people; she won't deny it. Misses having a social life, a family. But she's terrified that if she goes back, she'll lose it all. It's a rational enough fear.

They pull up to his apartment complex. Puck carries her suitcase up the stairs for her to the second floor where he unlocks the door. It's not much different from her own place, except furnished more for a bachelor than a bachelorette. She certainly wouldn't have a Cincinnati Reds jersey hanging on the wall, although maybe that's stereotypical. She wonders how the Red Sox fans in the area feel about that. Maybe he doesn't have any friends he invites over. No, scratch that, he's always been much more outgoing than her. Of course he has friends. He probably has a pretty Boston girlfriend too, with a cute little accent he can tease her about and they watch games together, arguing over teams, and she takes him to Fenway Park and they walk around kissing in the Boston Commons-

She stops her runaway train of thought right there. It's a bit unhealthy to be obsessing over a maybe-imaginary relationship (Cape Cod isn't next to Boston anyway, but that just means they go for walks on the beach – _stop it_).

He puts her suitcase down by the coffee table. She leans against the kitchen island. What now? It's not like they can avoid the issue much longer. She's here. He's here. There's a _reason _for that, albeit a reason she doesn't really want to talk about.

Should they have talked about this years ago? Would that have prevented this? Would she still speak to her friends and be brave enough to be in a relationship if she wasn't hung up over one person who shouldn't even matter? (_Of course she matters…)_

"So…" he begins, "Beth called you?"

No small talk. No cutting corners. That's good. Like ripping off a bandage. Quick. Painless. _Except_-

"Yeah."

She's forgotten how to form sentences.

"What happened?"

His stare feels uncomfortable. She doesn't know how to talk about this. What can she say? She swore at her, cut her foot, and then hung up. She probably hates her. _What a terrible almost mother. Good thing you didn't keep her._

"I don't know."

…

_-2010-_

"_When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall_._ Down will come baby, cradle, and all."_

The sky is a muddy shade of blue, and she watches the stars appear one by one. She'd like to wish on them, but she can't remember the saying. That's alright. She views wishing as praying for the non-religious, and God is probably sick of her same old prayers.

Quinn opens the window to the stuffy night air and sits down quietly with a stuffed elephant in her lap. Puck is standing up, holding the framed picture of her and Beth she keeps on her nightstand just to make the wounds sting a little bit more. He has a copy of the same one in his wallet. She has a picture of him and Beth as well, but she keeps that one locked away in her bottom drawer of things she doesn't want to look at (it's either that or burning them, but she might regret that later). She doesn't know why it's harder to see him with their baby than herself. _It's probably the look on his face._

"What are we doing?" he mutters. Her fingers gently stroke the plush toy's fur.

"What?"

"This," he gestures around the room, at the picture, at her clad in pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt, hair uncombed, "What are we doing here?"

"I live here."

"That's not what I mean, Quinn. You know that's not what I mean."

He never said she had to tell the truth.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me you feel something. Say _anything_ instead of staring out the window for once."

She swallows, mouth suddenly dry. It's too hard to think about. Why should they question the impossible?

"I don't know."

"You're thinking about _her. _That's why we're here, isn't it? Why all we do is sit around and avoid looking at each other?"

He's holding the picture tightly now, as if it's some kind of sacred object. She's afraid he might break it in his clenched fists.

"There's nothing else to think about."

"So do you regret it?"

He wants her to say yes. He's burning with anger and he wants her to say yes so he can somehow feel bad for her. Look at the poor mother without her child, at least she's regretful, everything's fine now.

She won't say it for him. She can't. _She doesn't have a right to regret anything. It was a choice._

"We made… the best choice that we could've for her."

His dam breaks.

"Jesus, Quinn, why do you always say shit you don't believe?"

"You think I wouldn't have kept her if I could've?"

"No."

At least he has an answer (or thinks he does). She isn't sure of anything anymore.

"Why are you such an ass all the time? I loved her enough to give her away. If you can't understand that… you need to go figure it out before you ever speak to me again."

He knows her enough to realize that she doesn't exactly believe the words herself. It's just what she does. She has to make herself the better off one, the angel, the patron saint sent to save him. It was that way her entire life, until she had a baby. Can she be blamed for trying to hang onto one aspect of control, even if it's wrong?

"Fine," he throws the picture onto the floor. It lands with a soft thud, "But don't come crying to me when you finally feel like dealing with it."

This isn't dealing? Fine. Denial never tasted so sweet.

She picks up the frame and places the picture in her bottom dresser drawer.

_Goodbye._

The lock clicks. She shoves her trembling hands into her pockets and watches out the window until Puck's tail lights disappear.

…

_-Today-_

"_When I am king, diddle, diddle! You shall be queen."_

"I don't know."

That answer frustrates him more than anything. Like hell she doesn't know. This is what she always does. She dances around questions in circles, darting this way and that just to avoid any real answer. Puck isn't sure why, because he always thought she was the practical one in this relationship, or whatever hell they are. It seems to fit their personalities that he would be the one avoiding it, ignoring it, and she'd be the sensible one. The _lets deal with this and talk about our feelings_ one.

He never liked _feelings_. That was pansy shit. As far as he was concerned, he didn't _have_ feelings. Quinn was the one who made him feel something, the only girl who ever became more than just a hookup, who broke him down and made him human. She was his angel, even when she was anything but a saint (either panting beneath him or crying as Finn punched him in the face).

He hates to admit it, but then he grew up and learned a few things, one of them being that emotions weren't so bad. She seems to have forgotten that. Now she's closed, busted down. He has to find a way to sneak in through the cracks.

Hopefully it won't be as hard as it sounds.

"How do you _not know_, Quinn? _Something happened_."

She looks aggravated, arms folded across her chest, "I just freaked out, okay? I didn't know what to say to her."

"That doesn't give you a right to just dump her on me."

"So that's what she is? A burden?"

"You know that's not what I meant! You're the one who wouldn't even talk to her. Is it really so difficult to answer a few questions?"

"My foot was bleeding. I couldn't talk."

She's good at excuses. They both are; always have been. He never thought it'd turn against him.

"I still don't get it. I didn't know what to say either."

"Well obviously you did a better job than I did. She wants to meet us?"

"Yeah. We're… calling her, at some point. I have her number-"

"Why the hell would you do that?"

"What did you _want _me to say to her? 'Sorry, but we really don't want to see you, giving you up was the best decision we ever made, have a nice life?'"

She looks away, becoming quiet, "She'd have to figure it out sometime…"

"Quinn! What the hell?" Can she really mean that? Isn't it unnatural for the father to have more of an attachment to the child than the mother? He read a baby book once. She's supposed to be hormonal and crying over the person who she _gave birth to_. _He's _supposed to be the jackass in this situation. How did they get so screwed up?

Then again, they were never normal. That ship sailed right around the time they slept together; second mate fucking his best friend's girl.

"Do you want me to lie? I _don't_ want to see her, giving her up _was_ a good decision, and I hope she has a great life."

"You don't mean that. You _can't _mean that."

"I do. I really do, Puck. So now that that's solved, why don't I just go back home-"

"Sure, okay! Back to your lonely life where you're fucking miserable because you're too afraid to let anyone in!"

"Stop it."

"No. You're scared because it _hurt you_ to give her away, and you never want to be hurt like that again, so you just shut everyone out and stop feeling _a damn thing_!"

"Please. Stop."

"At least I feel something. At least I want to make it right!"

"You can't fix it. No one can _fix this…_"

"Since when are you so hopeless?"

"Since I faced reality! I grew up, Noah! Maybe you should try it!"

"You grew up, but you still ran away. You can't deny it. Cutting yourself off from your own mother isn't_ normal_, Quinn."

She looks away, arms falling limply to her sides, "Fine. I'll give you that. Only because I'm sick of fighting with you."

He knows she doesn't mean today. That battle was just getting started. She means all the time they spent before they went their separate ways, claws drawn, ready to strike. There was no one to blame, so they were sticking it in places it didn't belong, denial and anger rampant. It was starting to feel like one big cliché teen angst movie.

Of course, now that there's been such an absence, does that make them even more of a cliché? Puck never really understood what a cliché was anyway.

"I guess that's what we're good at."

"I guess so."

"Why'd you leave?" he says as he watches her stare at the floor, "You didn't even say goodbye to me."

"I wanted to forget."

"Did it work?"

"No," she laughs softly, tucking strands of hair behind her ears, "I think it made it worse."

"So come back."

"That'll only mean I'm giving up. There's… nowhere to run anymore."

She leans against the kitchen island, the look in her eyes defeated and worn. He leans in, meeting her gaze.

"Let's just meet her. Once. Aren't you curious _at all_?"

She pushes him aside and paces over to the couch, staring intently at the pictures on the wall.

"I'm afraid if I see her… I'll want her back."

"That's okay."

She still doesn't look at him, voice cracking a little (_how can that possibly be okay_), "No, it isn't. She's not ours."

"That doesn't change the way you feel."

He ends up coming up behind her, because it's not like he knows what else to do, and spins her around so she'll look at him, hands on her shoulders. She quickly wipes away tears clouding her vision before they start to fall, putting up the wall again.

"_I love her_. I love her so much… and she's not mine."

"You think I don't feel that way?" he grins, "Why do you think I tried to be such a badass junior year? I was angry, and I didn't want to think about it. But I did."

"While I stepped back into my Cheerios uniform and pretended it never happened," she sniffs, wiping her face with her sleeve, "I thought I was supposed to be the well adjusted one."

"Yeah, well. No one ever said we were normal."

They might as well be the epitome of screwed.

She breathes in, sighing through her parted lips before speaking. It's been twelve years and she looks better than ever. He noticed it back at the airport – the way her hair floated around her face as she walked towards him, just like some romance movie…

"Sometimes, I still think… maybe we could've done it. Is that stupid?"

He not used to being the one who knows what to say. Their roles have unexpectedly reversed themselves, upside down, inside out.

"No. No, I wish we could've. But we wouldn't… we never would've gotten out of there. She wouldn't have a good life."

"We would've loved her."

"Yeah. But Shelby loves her too. Shelby can take care of her. We couldn't."

"And we wouldn't still be here today, would we?"

They'd still be stuck in Nowhere, Ohio. He'd probably work at Walmart and live in a crappy apartment down the street from his mother. Beth wouldn't get many toys for Christmas or Hanukkah or whatever. Probably wouldn't even have enough money to pay the bills. They'd be miserable. Maybe divorced. Or maybe they'd just suffer through it, living depressing lives together instead of semi-better ones apart.

Giving her away was the best choice they could've made. That doesn't mean it doesn't have to hurt. Quinn seems to have forgotten that.

"I don't know. Didn't we fight enough when we gave her away?"

"We would've fought just as much with her. She doesn't need that."

…

_-2010-_

"_A wise old owl lived in an oak. The more he saw, the less he spoke. The less he spoke, the more he heard. Why can't we all be like that wise old bird?__"_

It's been a month and nothing's changed. It's really starting to piss him off.

She's standing in front of the mirror, hands resting on her stomach. He's crammed into her window seat, staring as she spins in circles. She does this constantly, bending back and forth. All he can do is watch. Listen. Retort.

"Do you think I'm fat?"

At first, he was careful about it, but after so long the question just irks him, "For the thousandth time, no!"

"You're just saying that," she replies, continuing to stare at herself, at her midsection outlined in the small top she now only sort of fits into.

"Then why do you even ask me?"

She simply glares at him, "I've gained at least twenty pounds. And I have _stretch marks_. I'm too freaking _young_ to have stretch marks…"

"Well why don't you go check?" he rolls his eyes, shifting on the cushions.

"I stopped checking a while ago. It's disgusting."

Quite frankly, her _attitude_ is disgusting.

"God, Quinn! Why can't you just get over yourself?"

"Excuse me? You're not the one who has to live with this body!"

"Your _body_ looks fine-"

"Shut up!" she snaps, cutting him off, "I have to look at it every day and know what was there! The minute I start to forget, I just look at myself… and it's all right here."

"I have to deal with it just as much as you do."

"Oh cry me a river, Noah! You didn't live with her for nine months! You're not her _mother_!"

"No. I'm her _father_. I hate this too."

She looks away, yanking at her shirt again. Shutting down. Like always.

"She's not ours. We shouldn't-"

"And whose fault is that?"

"We made a decision together-"

"No we didn't!"

She stops, shocked. Her face is hurt, betrayed, confused all at once. He wasn't going to tell her that. He wasn't going to ruin her world, but damnit, there's only so much he can take.

She can't live her life forever thinking everything's fine and dandy. That's not reality.

"What are you saying?"

"I didn't… I wanted to keep her, okay? I really wanted to… just _try_."

"I know, but… You said it was okay. You said you knew we couldn't do it…"

She reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, but he shoves it away.

"Well I _lied_, Quinn. I lied! We could've done it. We could've been parents."

"Stop it. You _know_ we never would've survived-"

"No, _you_ wouldn't! You didn't want to deal with all the mistakes that turned you into the black sheep, including her! You wanted to erase everything that ever happened-"

"You shut up! Just _shut up_!" she screams at him, "You don't know anything I feel!"

"I know enough."

She stares into the mirror for a second, almost looking sad. It's gone as quickly as it came, and she whips around spitting fury in his face.

"I feel _empty. _I feel so _damn empty, _and you don't care."

"You think I don't feel that? That I don't feel like there's a piece of me missing too?"

"I don't know. I don't know you anymore."

"The feeling's mutual, babe. Hope the angel suit still fits over that leftover baby bump."

She smacks him with weak fists, desperately trying to get at him (he pushes her off easily), "Get out of my house. Just _get out of my fucking house_."

"Oh, and just so we're clear? I blame you."

He leaves her there, so seething with anger he doesn't care when he squeals out of her driveway.

It's nice to have someone to blame, and he'll keep blaming her until he can't anymore because life told him to grow up and he's sick of being angry.

He never really understands how it's for the best, even though it might've been. What if he really was a deadbeat, just like his dad? He doesn't want to be the one to leave Beth with a note on a fridge and a mom too sad to move.

This way, he can walk out on Quinn like nobody's business. It's not good to get hooked on lying little angels. He _can _tell himself that, and keep on believing that. She only would've broken his heart. _Like she hasn't already._

Like he said, lying is easy. She won't seek him out – too stubborn for that.

He won't think about them anymore, though their picture is burning a hole in his pocket. He just won't love them anymore.

Yeah. He doesn't need to love anyone.

…

_-Today-_

"_This is the man all tattered and torn that kissed the maiden all forlorn."_

She isn't sure when talking to him got so hard, or how he can make it easy again like nothing's happened. Did she really just manage to admit all that? Did she just admit her weakness, her secrets, her _shame_?

Shame is toxic. Getting pregnant as a teenager was shameful. Giving her up was shameful to some people, including him. She's never been able to forgive herself. She didn't deserve to be forgiven.

But if she does forgive… that won't make it hurt any less. What if Beth hates her? What if she turns out like Shelby and decides it's too late to love her daughter? What if she breaks everyone's heart?

Her questions will go unanswered until she is staring her past in the face. For now, she sinks down onto Puck's couch, arms loosening a bit from their death grip, "So what now?"

He chuckles, "I say now we relax," he strolls over to the refrigerator, grabbing a beer, "Pick your poison. I've got beer, whiskey, rum and coke… might even have some of those girly wine coolers…"

"I'll have anything non-alcoholic, thanks."

"What? Quinnie, you're missing the whole point of relaxing here!"

"Last time I drank with you, things didn't exactly go according to plan."

"You mean the party after Regionals junior year? _You're_ the one who jumped _me_-"

"That wasn't exactly what I was talking about," she blushes. He sets a water down in front of her and takes a sip from his beer.

"Ah well, regardless. I still say you're missing out. It's hard to have any fun when you're wound up so tight."

"I'm not _wound up_. I'm just… careful."

He laughs so hard she thinks he's going to choke, "Oh please, you need to loosen up a little! When was the last time you actually let go and, I dunno, _hooked up_ with someone?"

"Define 'hooked up,'" she says weakly, immediately fearing the evil grin that spreads across his face. In some ways, boys just never mature.

"When was the last time the perfect Quinn Fabray _did the dirty _with someone as stud-ly as myself, because everyone knows you don't settle for anything less than the Puckster once you've had him. And _don't_ tell me it was when you got pregnant, unless you got pregnant again, which I highly doubt…"

The blush crawling across her face tells him everything he needs to know. His mouth drops open.

"It _was_ with me, wasn't it? God Quinn, have you been living on a deserted island? You're practically still a virgin! I can't believe you're still such a prude-"

"Just because I don't want to have sex with everything and everyone doesn't make me a _prude_. It means I have values-"

"More like issues."

"Shut _up_ and don't interrupt me! It means I have values I'd like to uphold! And I've had boyfriends, I just didn't sleep with them! It _is_ possible to have a relationship without sex, you know."

"Was sex with me really that bad? You know, for you never want to do it again?"

She'd like to smack him. He probably didn't listen to anything she just said. Always self absorbed. Typical.

"You were a mistake. That wasn't supposed to happen."

"Yeah, well it did. Seriously, was it _that bad_-"

She looks away, face turning bright red again, "I don't remember."

He smiles and grabs her hand, "Okay, _sure_. You still need to loosen up."

She flinches, "Not in_ that_ way, I hope. Because I'm not-"

"That's not what I meant," he says, and she breathes a sigh of relief. The boy really needs to learn how to clearly separate conversation topics…

"What, exactly, did you have in mind?"

"Well first, you're going to have a beer-"

She cuts him off, shouting, "Puck, I'm not drinking with you!"

"Why not? How else do you expect to loosen up?"

_She can't control herself when she's drunk._

"You haven't changed at all, have you? That's stupid and idiotic, not to mention-"

And suddenly he kisses her full force, and the room starts spinning. She could blame it on the alcohol, except she hasn't drunk any. She feels like she's sixteen again, like she loves him again, even though that can't be possible. _This is supposed to hurt. Why does he keep making it so easy to falling back into danger?_

She pulls away from him slightly, ever the sensible one, eyelashes grazing his cheeks, "We shouldn't be doing this."

"Why not?" he asks softly, and places his mouth on top of hers again, enveloping her in his arms.

To hell with sensibility.

…

_-2009-_

"_He began to compliment, and I began to grin, how do you do, and how do you do? And how do you do again?"_

It starts out innocent enough.

Finn's away visiting his grandma in Missouri. She's back from a long Cheerios practice, her parents are at a dinner party, and Puck shows up on the front step, offering wine coolers and a good time.

She doesn't refuse.

He's been eying her for weeks – she knows that much. She also knows she can't help staring back at him, wondering just how different it would be with him instead of Finn…

Though that's a total joke. Puck has sex with everything. Finn would never pressure her. He's far too sweet.

So why is she letting Noah Puckerman inside? Why isn't she calling Finn up, screw long distance, to tell him she loves him? Why are they making out on her bed? Why is his hand sliding up her skirt? Why is she letting him get so far?

Does she want a change? Rebellion? Does this prove she can get whatever she wants, that she's the best? Are all good girls destined to fall from grace?

If she wanted to change, she could chop off her hair. Sleeping with Puck doesn't prove much, considering he'll hump anything that moves. It doesn't make her the best. It makes her a number, a tally. Another name to cross off his list.

She's stooping down to his level. She's giving up her values just for her _boyfriend's best friend_-

But before she can really contemplate the meaning of _stop_, her body's taking over, and she feels too guilty to ever admit she's actually _enjoying it._

Then it's over and she kicks him out, pushing him out of bed and pulling her clothes back on, stripping the sheets, tossing them into the washing machine, placing her hair back into a perfect ponytail.

He says he'll call. She tells him not to. He just laughs and walks out, leaving the wine coolers behind.

No, she doesn't drink the rest of them. She doesn't get drunk for the first time in her life, telling her mother the next day that she just has a cold. No one even questions a hangover – not their perfect little girl – as she tosses the empty bottles into the garbage can by the street.

And no, she didn't do it because she loved him, though she won't really contemplate that until much later. She won't ever really let herself believe it. Why should she love him? He's nothing to her. He means nothing.

Still, she can't help wondering as she balances atop the Cheerios pyramid, as she kisses Finn at the airport, as she holds the pregnancy test in her hand, shaking: if he meant nothing to her, then how could she give such an important piece of her life, existence, soul, to him?

…

_-2009-_

"_Bonny lass, pretty lass, wilt thou be mine?"_

It didn't start out so innocent for him.

He lost his innocence the day is dad walked out, so he doesn't think anyone can really blame him for being so corrupted. It's just in him by now. What can he say? He likes to watch the pretty ones struggle as they fall from their pedestal.

Maybe that's a little mean. He understands that. No one ever said he had to be nice. Besides, it's not like he _rapes _them or anything. They _want_ it. It's mutual.

Of course, Quinn Fabray's his biggest challenge yet. So of course, he's determined to have her.

She's the perfect candidate, abstinence and all. It's not because it bothers him when Finn spends three hours talking about how pretty her hair is, or because he gets a fire in his gut when he has to watch them kiss in front of his locker.

Of course not. It's because life's a game and he's ready to win.

He never knew he'd wind up falling for her.

He doesn't figure it out until after he deflowers her, but yeah, he sort of likes her. He won't realize he loves her until she's six months pregnant and yelling at him for not buying her any ketchup while his little sister tries to bake cookies with his Nintendo 64. He won't admit it until after Beth is born, and even then they won't talk about it.

It's easier to pretend. Somehow he makes due with staring at her from across the room and imagining every girl underneath his hands is her.

It doesn't really work, but hey. She's not going to call his bluff.

…

_-Today-_

"_Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after."_

She wakes up mainly confused, because she's cold and she can't remember the last time she's been _cold_ in ages. Dying from heat - yes. Cold - not so much. Then she realizes she's lying in someone else's bed (in _Puck's_ bed), and he's hogging the covers.

_What?_

Once she regains her senses, she makes sure her clothes are all still in place, which they are. She had come to bed with him, pushing his hand away every time he reached for her zipper, because she never was and still isn't that kind of girl, even if she had a baby with him twelve years ago.

They fell asleep. Obviously. _They just fell asleep…_

How could she let this happen? Getting _involved _wasn't part of the plan. Does this mean she misses him? She loves him? Does this mean _he_ loves _her_? Does he think she loves him? Do they have some sort of future now?

Ever since they first met, since she let his hand slip underneath her skirt, since they stared through the mesh wire glass, their future has been intertwined.

She really shouldn't be all that surprised. Still. _It was a mistake._

Why does she always make all her mistakes with him? Mistakes that don't even seem like real mistakes… not that she'd say that. How can a mistake turn out to be so… _right_?

The temperature gets the better of her, so she has to save her questions for later and begins pulling on the blankets, dragging them back over her body. He has a firm grip, even while he's sleeping. _Bed hog_. Good thing they never actually _slept_ together, or she probably wouldn't be here. An undisturbed bed to herself is very high on her list of priorities. Also: she's been known to kick. Looking over, he might just have a bruise on his back to prove it.

"Hey," he rolls over, finally stirring, annoyed and squinting at her out of one eye.

"I'm cold," she glares, pulling the sheets up to her chin, "It's thirty degrees in here."

"More like sixty, Miss. Georgia," he grumbles as he reaches over, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close.

"What are you doing?"

"Warming you up."

"I can't."

"You know, you really like that excuse. I'm not buying it until you have some evidence."

She gently pushes him away, "This is… too much for me, Puck. I'm not used to letting people in."

"Well, you have to start somewhere. I say innocent body heat is perfect."

He reaches for her again and this time she doesn't pull away. He does have a point – it is warmer. And she has missed someone holding her.

"I've never held you before," he muses idly, breaking the silence, "After all that time…"

"Because I couldn't trust you then."

"Do you trust me now?"

Her grumbling stomach answers for her. He laughs in response.

"Trust me enough to make breakfast, anyway?"

She nods.

She sits at the kitchen island and ties her hair back, watching him fry bacon in a pan and mix up batter to make waffles. Of course he'd have a waffle maker. _His favorite food._

"I thought you were kosher."

"Nah. Mom's kosher, really."

"So you kept bacon from me that whole time for nothing?"

"Well, not _nothing_. You've seen my mother when she's angry; she would've killed me for bringing pig into the house."

"True."

They sit down together at the table. She looks at him over her plate and wonders, just for a second, what her life would've been like if she'd never left him without saying goodbye.

"You're not a half bad cook."

"It's your favorite."

"Yours too. You remembered?"

"I'm more surprised you remembered."

"Well…"

She bites into another piece of bacon to avoid answering. She remembers because she lived with him for almost three months, because they used to be close, because she… well, no, she doesn't _care_.

_Then what exactly do you call jamming your tongue down his throat? Hatred?_

He swallows another bite of waffle and puts down his fork, "So I was thinking today we could call Beth."

She manages to stop herself from spitting a mouthful of orange juice all over the table.

"Why?"

"Because I said we'd call her back. She has a right to know-"

"Don't I have a right to my sanity?"

"You're not exactly sane now."

"That's debatable."

He sighs, reaching over the table to grab her hand, "Look. The way I see it is: what do you have left to lose?"

She has nothing left to lose. She already lost her daughter, her home, a boy she might've loved…

Reaching for it is terrifying, but could it be better than living alone with the knots of pain beneath her ribs?

She helps him wash the dishes and gets dressed, putting up her hair and applying a fresh coat of mascara. If she's going to do this, she has to look presentable. A Fabray never shows up underdressed, no matter the occasion.

She finds him on the couch, wallet sitting open on the coffee table. A crinkled picture is resting in his hands. She doesn't need to ask him what it is. She has the same one folded at the bottom of her purse, though it usually resides somewhere in her sock drawer.

She sits down, propping her head against his outstretched arm.

"If we meet her… what do we do if she doesn't love us back? Or if she needs us more than we need her?"

He picks up the phone and places it in her hand.

"You'll never know unless you try."

There is a beeping of keys as they punch in the number and she picks up on the first ring.

"Hello?"

She feels everything she thought she would, and maybe some she didn't, but she doesn't back away. The time comes when all there's left to do is to take a leap of faith.

"Hi, Beth. It's... _your mom_."

She jumps, but she's not alone. She never will be again.

"_I won't be my father's Jack,_

_I won't be my mother's Jill,_

_I will be the fiddler's wife,_

_And have music when I will._

_T'other little tune,_

_T'other little tune,_

_Prythee, love, play me_

_T'other little tune."_


End file.
